


Proportionate to the Offense

by NaroMoreau, PepperVL



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), But It's Gonna Take A Bit, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), There will be a happy ending, Torture, Violence, hang in there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26887555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/pseuds/PepperVL
Summary: It's been almost a year since the almost-apocalypse, and Aziraphale and Crowley have been proceeding with business as usual, albeit without the fear of getting caught together by their former superiors. They enjoy lunches and dinners out, strolls through the park... and absolutely never saying a word to the other about how they really feel. An invitation to Adam's Yay We Stopped the Apocalypse party tempts them both to say something, but before either of them can gather the courage, Heaven and Hell make a second attempt at punishment. Can they survive and get away to find their happily ever after?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	Proportionate to the Offense

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the POV Pairs event for the Good Omens Events Server. NaroMoreau was Crowley, PepperVL was Aziraphale. Thanks to Amanda for running a great event.
> 
> Please mind the tags. This will get dark, and additional tags will be added as we get more written.

Aziraphale made a soft sound of pure bliss as he closed his lips around the last bite of crepes suzette and slowly pulled his fork from his mouth. He let his eyes flutter almost closed, though not so far that he couldn’t see Crowley’s reaction, which was usually even better than the food he was eating. Tonight’s reaction was even more important, or it would be if things went the way Aziraphale hoped, though that was a conversation for later, over drinks back at the bookshop or perhaps during a stroll in the park, not for dinner.

No, there were other things to discuss at dinner, like the surprisingly fancy card that Aziraphale had received in the mail yesterday.[1] He had, naturally, immediately sent back the enclosed reply card, assuring the former Antichrist that he would be delighted to attend. Now he just had to make sure Crowley had done the same.

After dabbing his lips with the linen napkin to remove non-existent crumbs, Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley[2] and asked, “Did you receive Adam’s invitation? I wrote back right away to let him know I would be attending. I do hope you were planning to go as well?”

Crowley seemed startled across the table, and it was clear he hadn't heard a word Aziraphale had said. "Uhm? Come again, angel?"

“The invitation from the Antichrist. Well, the child who used to be the Antichrist. Adam Young?” Aziraphale used a small miracle to bring the invite from the bookshop to his jacket pocket and pulled out the fancy card to show Crowley. “I received this today.”

“Oh that. Yeah. Sent it right away.” He took the stem of his glass in elegant fingers and sipped slowly. “Got to be careful not to piss off that demonic hellspawn.”

“We do?” Aziraphale tried not to let that concern him. “I had thought… well, I thought he was human now. That his human father had always been his father.”

“Yeah, but you know. Potential,” Crowley said. “The potential is there. Rather smothered but you can’t ever know.” He let his glass rest on the table and turned to Aziraphale. “Don’t need to remind you the rebellious trait is well, there.” He cleared his throat. “That and you know how humans descend into madness with that whole teenager thing. Nasty.”

Aziraphale picked up his glass and tried to drown the spike of worry with wine. It didn’t work, but he was always a believer in trying again, so he refilled his glass and drank about half of it too. Setting down his glass, he smiled tightly. “Right. Well. I suppose we ought to go together then?” Not that he had any other way to get to Tadfield without using miracles, something he was trying to do as little as possible these days. No need to attract undue attention, after all.

For an odd reason, that seemed to spark a light blush on Crowley's cheeks. "Yeah, of course. Together. Going to, that is, er." He quaffed down the remaining wine and set the glass a tad too strongly on the table.

“Well, then. That’s settled.” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley the way he always did when the demon did something nice for him. “How much do you think he remembers? How much do you think any of the humans remember?”

“Hard to say. At least Adam has us in his memories, otherwise we wouldn’t be forced to RSVP as a couple of Joe Bloggs for a bloody birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, obviously the boy remembers us. But I do wonder what, exactly, he remembers. What he understood, for that matter.” Aziraphale refilled both their wine glasses[3] and took a sip of his. “Clearly he thinks it’s a day worth commemorating, but do the others? I do hope he invited the other people who were there. The last time I tried to entertain a group of children was rather disastrous.”

Crowley laughed at that, and for a moment there was an edge of softness on his face, the glimmer of something Aziraphale had seen surface only in a handful of occasions, but it was too fleeting to grasp it. “Yeah. Well. ‘Got a feeling you would’ve done oodles better without that ridiculous ‘stache plastered on your face.” He took another sip of his wine. “Tough audience, children. They’re vicious little things.”

Aziraphale gasped, pressing one hand to his chest and dropping his jaw in a manner that was almost as theatrical as that disastrous performance. “The mustache is part of the act! I couldn’t possibly perform without it! It would be like… like performing without the dove, or without Harry the Rabbit!” Never mind that the dove hadn’t made an appearance at the show and Harry had bored the kids and been promptly miracled back to his home.[4]

Crowley laughed. "More's the pity. No offence, angel but look how good that went. You killed the poor blighter and Harry had to make a run for the hills.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look as he picked up his wine glass. Crowley had never appreciated Aziraphale's magic show, but that wasn’t going to stop Aziraphale from trying. “No matter. We haven’t been asked to entertain, though I may bring a few thing just in case Adam requests it.” He beamed at the thought, certain that if he were asked to perform it would go much better than it had all the other times he’d tried to wow humans with his magic show.

“I do hope that lovely lady… oh, what was her name? Marjorie! Yes, of course. I do hope that Marjorie is there. I would like to catch up, see what she’s been up to since she was so kind to share her body with me for a few hours. And Miss Device as well. I would be fascinated to know more about her family’s history with that book.” Aziraphale finished his wine as he mentally ran down the list of people who had been at the air base that day. The Antichrist and his friends, Miss Device, Marjorie… Miss Device’s young man, and Sargent Shadwell. Now he could make things interesting. “I do hope Sargent Shadwell won’t try to exorcise me again if he comes.”

Crowley pressed his lips and tried to hide a smile behind another sip of his wine. And failed spectacularly. This didn’t mean that for the first good part of a month he’d considered to visit Shadwell and terrorize him to his knickers once Aziraphale revealed to him exactly how he’d ended up being summoned up to Heaven. But eventually his anger simmered and faded, because as much as Shadwell was an idiot, he wasn’t evil and if there was one thing Crowley had always abided by, was to not inflict harm in any undeserving human. They already had Heaven for that.

“Don’t you worry, angel,” he said with a smirk, and Aziraphale felt a tingle in his spine. “I’ll be there this time. Ready to leave?”

Aziraphale nodded as he resolved that he would say something today. “Of course, my dear.”

Crowley asked for the bill with the flick of a hand, and once they got sorted whose turn was to pay for it - it turned out it was Crowley’s, as it had been the previous fifty times no matter how much Aziraphale complained and claimed he was cheating - they made it to the Bentley.

The sun was still up, and the clouds billowed in an open sky. The warmth of the summer seemed to seep into the days, dragging the hours with peaks of hot waves that fortunately didn’t make a dent into Aziraphale’s heavy layering. Crowley slid his hands into the pockets of his usual painted-on jeans before spotting the ice cream stand in a corner and throwing a grin in Aziraphale’s direction

“Fancy a lolly?”

What Aziraphale really fancied was to go back to the shop, pour a glass of wine, and broach the subject he’d been mulling over for some time now, but he couldn’t say no to Crowley, especially when the demon was smiling at him like that. He couldn’t count the times Crowley's smile had left him unable to do anything but indulge Crowley, and without Heaven looking down on him constantly, he didn’t even try to resist.[5] Perhaps the moment to say something would come while they were enjoying their ice cream. “Don’t mind if I do.”

* * *

When the Bentley jerked to a halt in front of the bookshop, the sun had gone down on the horizon. A lolly had become a stroll down St. James Park where their favourite ducks in this decade had fought wing and beak for the crumbs of the particularly delightful bread Aziraphale used to miracle for them.

After the Ritz, Crowley hadn't said much, no more than some monosyllabic gurgles and hmpfs, every time Aziraphale tried to pull the thread of a well delayed conversation.

Crowley knew he was sulking, and logically he also knew there was no way Aziraphale could suddenly develop the ability to parse his thoughts and offer whatever solution he was floundering to find. Logically. In reality, he'd pulled his ngk card and had toddled behind Aziraphale secretly wanting that this feeling clawing inside whenever he thought about the fact he'd wasted a year, would go away.

Aziraphale opened the passenger door and Crowley side eyed him. Perhaps he could do it today.

Aziraphale felt Crowley's eyes on him as he climbed from the car, and he wondered, not for the first time that evening, what the demon wanted. He had been unusually quiet tonight, so much so that Aziraphale was almost tempted to just let him go home, but well, he had resolved on the drive that he was going to do this tonight, and so he leaned in and met Crowley's gaze. “Are you… er, that is, would you like to come in for a night cap?” It sounded ridiculous asking like that—he’d imagined sounding much smoother when he’d made his decision—but he couldn’t turn back time and re-do it, unfortunately. “I do believe I have…” And of course right now was when knowledge of his entire wine collection deserted him. “...something drinkable in the shop.”

A second elapsed, the accusing tick tick of the clock.

There. A chance.

Crowley wished he could have more time to think. _You already had 6000 bloody years_ , his brain supplied. He snuck a glance to Aziraphale, to that beautiful face he knew so well and his resolve, crumbled.

He couldn't do it, he couldn't risk it. What if Aziraphale shunned him? What if he was forced to go back to those years, centuries, where they'd been apart? This could be worse. Aziraphale could effectively ban him from his life.

Crowley didn't think he could take it.

"Er. Better not. Got some things to do, but lunch tomorrow?" He asked with one of his signature shrugs.

Aziraphale started at Crowley, not quite comprehending. Crowley had turned down a nightcap? He never turned down an invitation with Aziraphale, not unless he had pressing business with Hell, and that was no longer an issue. How was Aziraphale supposed to tell Crowley about his feelings if Crowley didn’t come inside?[6]

“Oh. Uh. Yes. Of course.” He bit back a my dear, wondering if perhaps Crowley had figured out what was on his mind and wasn’t interested. Perhaps Aziraphale had been reading things wrong for the past 6,000 years and Crowley did think of them simply as friends. Maybe turning down his invitation was Crowley's way of letting Aziraphale down easy, of giving him time to compose himself before lunch tomorrow.

He forced himself to look forward to lunch. At least he would get to see Crowley. He could have that much. “Shall we get sushi?”

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want." Crowley cranked the engine of the Bentley. "My treat."

It was always Crowley's treat, one of the things that had led to Aziraphale's… misunderstanding, but he supposed he should be glad that wasn’t changing. And he would be, really, but at the moment he was too busy holding back tears to be grateful. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He flashed a smile that felt more like a grimace, stepped back from the car, and headed straight toward the shop. He would be fine by tomorrow. He had to be.

He moved slowly as he unlocked the door, part of him still sure Crowley would change his mind and come in after all, sure that this was all a misunderstanding and that the evening would proceed just the way he’d planned. He held on to that thought until he heard the Bentley peel away from the curb at Crowley's usual breakneck speed.

When the noise of the car had faded from his ears, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, his hand on the knob to the bookstore, needing just a moment before stepping inside. He would get through this, just like he’d gotten through so many other things. Crowley would still be his friend. He wouldn’t be facing eternity alone. He just had to—

He was jerked from his thoughts by a hand roughly grabbing his arm and spinning him around. His eyes flew open, but before he could process what he saw, something was shoved in his mouth and he heard a sharp crack as pain blossomed in his skull. The world faded as Aziraphale wondered if his last memory would be of Crowley driving away.

### Footnotes

1. The invites Deirdre Young had bought when Adam said he wanted to send out invites to his birthday party had been completely appropriate for a boy turning 12. However, between Adam’s feelings that this anniversary was a momentous occasion and Aziraphale’s inability to conceive of a written invitation that was anything less than formal, the card that had arrived at the bookshop that morning had more closely resembled a wedding invitation than the birthday invites Deirdre Young had purchased.↩

2. He felt a small thrill that he could do this without worrying about who might be watching.↩

3. The bottle should have been empty several pours ago, but since Aziraphale always expected there to be wine in it, the bottle obliged.↩

4. Sadly, the kids did not witness that, which would have impressed them much more than Aziraphale’s actual magic show.↩

5. He did *think* about resisting for the briefest of moments on the grounds that he’d had a pudding course at the restaurant, but quickly decided that was a moot point.↩

6. Aziraphale hadn’t figured out how to tell Crowley about his feelings even if he had come inside, but he had determined that getting the demon in the bookshop was step one. Step two was alcohol. Things got hazy around step three, but he was confident he could muddle through if the first two steps happened.↩


End file.
